


a long way from where you thought you would be

by HaniTrash



Series: Stucky Fistposting Friday Fics [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes Recovering, Daybreak, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Steve doesn't know how to be a handler, Stucky Fistposting (Defrost) 2019, Stucky Fistposting Fic Challenge, stucky fistposting friday fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-05-15 08:40:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19292194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaniTrash/pseuds/HaniTrash
Summary: “I want to be him again. The longer I’m awake, I have...flashes. Like memories. Of him. Of you.” Bucky bites his bottom lip and looks hesitantly at Steve. “Of us ,” he says, his inflection and tone clear as to what he remembers. “But then they’re gone, they don’t stay. And I wonder if they’re even real.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Stucky Fistposting Challenge fic, prompt this time was "Daybreak." I've linked this to the series, but they are all stand-alone stories, you do not need to read the others to follow this.

 

“Are you with me, Buck?”

The Asset shook his head, blinked his eyes, focused on the man speaking to him. He couldn’t remember his name, but he didn’t dare admit that. He was new. The Asset couldn’t remember the introduction, the handoff, but he was  _ sure _ it had happened. His only real evidence for this was the unshakeable belief, his complete confidence, in the fact that he must protect this man at all costs. But that wouldn’t have been drilled into him if it hadn’t happened. And sometimes, after the chair, he forgets small things like this. Like names. But not faces, not feelings.

They’d made sure of that.

So if every fiber of his being was screaming to follow this man, he would.

Even if he was calling him a strange new code name.

The Asset nods, falls into line behind him, scans his gear as someone approaches and speaks with him.  _ Cap _ , the man in the leather with a bow and arrows calls him. Yes, that sounds right.  _ Cap, short for Captain. _

The Asset clears his throat.

“Sir,” he calls, voice raspy from disuse.

Cap turns, a surprised look on his face.

“Everything okay, Buck?”

“Here, take this,” he says, pulling a gun from his belt and flipping it around, practically shoving it into his hand. He sees the others all immediately tense around them, watching him, but he doesn’t pull his hand back. It is imperative Cap take the gun.

“Buck?” Cap asks, and it’s clearly a question.

“You have no sidearm. Take it.”

Cap searches the Asset’s face, looks down at the gun held out to him.

“Okay, Buck. Okay. Thanks.”

The Asset’s eyebrows twitch in his confusion at  _ Cap’s _ confusion and hesitation. But he took the gun, which made the Asset relax, and breathe easier, because he’d be damned if he’d get into trouble because some newbie handler didn’t remember the rules.

*****

“Bucky, it’s been two days. You need to stop this. Eat. Rest. Anything besides follow me around.”

The Asset stares at Cap. He’s heard other members of Cap’s unit refer to him by another name since their return from the mission, and something inside him had clicked at the name  _ Steve _ , but the Asset wasn’t allowed to call him that. He wasn’t allowed to use informal names.

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

Cap is looming over him, hands on his hips, while the Asset sits on the floor outside Cap’s door, just as he’s done the previous two nights. He’s got a few fuzzy spots from those days, but he  _ knows _ he’d been doing his job properly and guarding Cap.

“Protocol!” the Asset snaps, pushing up to his feet. “You know this! I get that you’re new, but stop testing me! I haven’t forgotten any of the rules in a very, very long time.”

Cap froze, and the Asset saw what appeared to be understanding dawn in his eyes, followed immediately by sadness.  _ Sorry to disappoint, Cap, but I’m not getting ‘disciplined’ again any time soon.  _ The Asset catches himself from actually saying the words. Being tired is no excuse. As it is, his outburst should earn him a strike, and he braces for the hit that never comes.

“Asset,” Cap says softly, and the Asset immediately straightens himself, standing at attention. Cap sighs and buries his hands in his face. “S-, status report,” he orders, squaring his shoulders with a deep breath.

_ Finally, _ the Asset thinks.

“Functional. At the current rate of exertion, I have two more nights before I am unsafe for use. If there is a mission between now and then, I will require a reset after. Supplement supply is low, but rationed and adequate for another three days, again, mission dependent.”

The muscles in Cap’s jaw tic, and the Asset again braces for reprimand.

“Asset,” Cap says, and this time his voice is hard.

“Sir.”

“You are capable of showering, washing yourself, yes?”

“Yes.”

Cap nods.

“Good. So. I am  _ ordering— _ ” Cap’s voice breaks on the word “—you to go to the kitchen and eat a sandwich. Make that two. And drink something while you’re in there. Bring another sandwich and a drink back to your room. Take a shower. Eat the other sandwich if you’re still hungry. And then  _ go to sleep _ . You are to sleep every night and eat when you are hungry, at minimum twice a day. Drink as needed. This location is safe. I am in no danger here. My room is directly across the hall from yours. If I need you I will come get you.”

The Asset stares at Cap. None of this follows typical procedure. However, the thought of food is quite welcomed. As is showering. But as to the sleeping...

“Is there a problem?” Cap asks, and the Asset mentally shakes himself.

“No sir. Thank you sir.”

The Asset turns and strides down the hall, waiting for the inevitable laughter, the calling of him back, the snatching away of the dangled rewards that he didn’t think he’d earned in the first place.

And if instead he hears a heart-wrenching sob behind him as the doors to the elevator open to admit him, he pretends not to hear it.

 

*****

“Bucky, you don’t need to guard me while I’m working out.”

“I’m not guarding. I am assessing.”

“Assessing?” Steve pauses from his assault on the punching bag—number five this morning—and turns to look at Bucky. The man has been slowly circling the room, watching him while Steve first lifted weights, and then started in on the heavy bag.

“Yes. Form, function, training. I need to know where your weaknesses are in order to help you better. To do my job.”

“Your job?”

“Yes, my job. Protect you. To do that, I must know you better than anybody else. Must know you better than I know myself.” Bucky pauses and cants his head to the side, as if something has just occurred to him. “Surely, you know this? It is my ultimate function. To be completely indispensable to you. Be your right hand. Your shadow. Your ultimate weapon.”

“You understand that I am enhanced as well? I know how to fight.”

“You are good at fighting, yes. But not as good as you should be. You aren’t skilled with any weapons. You can shoot, but not like me. You can’t use knives. I have much to teach you. I don’t know how you advanced to handler with such little tactical expertise.”

Steve feels as if his head is going to explode from this conversation. He walks over to his water bottle, tapping out a message on his phone as he drinks.

_ Need to talk ASAP. And ALONE. _

Natasha’s reply comes about a minute later:

_ Roof in fifteen? _

_ I’ll bring the drinks,  _ he sends back immediately.

_ Oof, that bad? _

_ Worse. _

 

Steve is on the roof in five minutes after  _ ordering _ Bucky to remain in the gym and do a one hour workout.

Natasha is already there.

She cocks an eyebrow at the bottle in his hand.

“You ask to meet and bring me a bottle of premium Russian vodka from Tony’s stash at ten in the morning. I knew he was having trouble adjusting, expected it even, but I didn’t know it was this bad. What the hell is going on?”

“You’ve broken brainwashing before, right? On yourself, and on Clint when Loki controlled him with the scepter.”

“It’s not easy. It’s gonna take time. Certainly longer than a couple weeks, if they’ve been doing it for over half a century.”

Steve sighed.

“I can’t fucking do this, Nat. It’s killing me. I have to order him— _ order my best friend— _ to eat. To sleep. To do anything! He’s acting like I’m his handler, he expects punishment for making a mistake, doing something that I don’t like. He thinks he’s not allowed to do anything without explicit direction and permission.” He took a pull from the flask in his hand, grimacing at the odd taste.

“F-bombs and Thor’s special liquor. You really are overwhelmed, aren’t you?”

“I just want my friend back. The man who sleeps outside my door every night because he thinks he has to protect and guard me is  _ not _ Bucky. But then, you know what he did last night? He brought me paper and some pencils. He said,  _ ‘You are clearly distressed. Yet you are not utilizing me to manage your anger like you should.’ _ And then he fucking, he says—” a sob breaks from Steve and he scrubs a hand over his face before he continues.

“—He goes,  _ ‘Perhaps you should try drawing. It always used to relax you in the past.’ _ But when I asked him what he remembered about it, he couldn’t tell me, just that he knew I liked to draw and I was very good at it. So he’s in there. He is. He’s trying to break through.”

Natasha eyes him and takes a deep breath, as if she knows the answer to the question before she asks it. Or she’s afraid of it. Either way, Steve almost doesn’t want to hear what she has to say, even though he asked her up here.

“Did you ask him what he meant by ‘utilizing him’ for your anger?”

Steve laughs, and the tears start in earnest.

“Yeah.” He takes another deep pull from the flask, cursing the serum for his inability to forget anything and for the inability to get raging drunk. Thor’s alien liquor mostly does the trick, if even for only a few minutes at a time.

“He told me. What HYDRA thought he was good for. Two things. Killing and fucking. They fucking  _ raped _ him.  _ All the goddamned time.  _ They used him for ‘recreation.’ For ‘stress relief.’ And they’d do worse as a punishment as a way to control him and keep him ‘compliant.’”

Natasha cursed and chugged half the bottle Steve had given her.

“Where is he?” she asks, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

“In the gym.” He sniffed. “I told him to work out for an hour.”

Natasha is on her feet and running for the door before he finishes speaking.

“Nat, wait, what are you doing?”

“What you can’t.”

Steve rushes to catch up to her, tries to stop her from whatever it is she’s going to do, but she reaches the door first, slams it and locks it. Of course, it doesn’t take long for Steve to destroy the door and get in—he’ll owe Tony one hell of an apology later—but it buys her the time she needs to get to the elevator before him. He runs for the stairs, leaping down whole flights at a time, and crashes through the door to the gym.

“Natasha, what are you doing?”

“Steve, not now!” she snaps, never taking her eyes from Bucky as they square off. She’s got a cut over one eye, but Bucky’s nose is bleeding so she clearly got a good hit in already.

Bucky’s eyes, though,  _ do _ flick over to Steve. Natasha takes advantage of that and lunges for him. He attempts to deflect her, but she’s fast, and in no time she has her arms around his neck in a choke hold, her legs wrapped around his waist, and is speaking to him in what sounds like Russian. Steve doesn’t know what she’s saying but by her tone and the way Bucky stops fighting and falls to his knees, it’s clear he’s being reprimanded.

She drops her legs but maintains the hold on his neck, giving him just enough air that he can speak.

Bucky responds by reaching up and grabbing onto her by the shoulders. He flips her over his head and slams her into the mat, his hand—his right hand, not the metal one, Steve notices—around her neck. Natasha gets her legs up between them, plants her feet on his chest, and shoves him away, pulling one of his own knives from his belt as he goes. She follows after him, landing on his chest, her knees on his shoulders, knife at his throat.

Bucky lays still, holding the back of his head as he shakes it. He’d landed off the mat and his head had hit the concrete floor pretty hard from Steve’s vantage point. Bucky’s brows draw together as he studies Natasha, eyes unblinking.

“I trained you,” he said, sounding uncertain. Then— “Oh my God, I—”

“You did your  _ job _ ,  _ soldier _ .”

Bucky stared up at her in wide-eyed horror, and to  _ Steve’s  _ horror, he can see that in this moment, he is one hundred percent Bucky, not the Asset _. _

“You had no choice. And neither did I. We were following orders. Neither of us were ourselves,” she ends on a whisper. Natasha’s gaze flicks up to Steve, and Bucky’s follows suit. She swallows hard and continues speaking. “Nobody here will give those kinds of orders. Those punishments are over.”

Natasha stands and drops the knife onto Bucky’s chest as she walks over to Steve.

“The more uncertain he feels about his position here, the more he’ll lash out at you, try to get you to punish him. The more stressed you are without taking it out on him, the more uncertain he’ll be.”

“I’m right here, you know.”

Steve’s heart breaks at the sound of Bucky’s voice.

“We should talk.”

Clint drops down in front of Bucky seemingly from nowhere. Bucky reacts instantly, and the knife he hadn’t put away yet is at Clint’s throat. Clint, to his credit, doesn’t even flinch.

“We should talk,” he repeats, holding eye contact with Bucky.

“It’s okay, Bucky. Go with him.”

Bucky steps back and puts the knife away, eyes still on Clint.

“Hey, guys, listen, if you’re going to have a party on the roof on a Tuesday morning, at least invite me?” Tony enters the room, holding the discarded bottle and flask. “And you owe me a new door,” he says, pointing at Steve.

Natasha grabs the bottle and takes a long pull.

“If you’re not going to... _ punish _ ...him, spar with him. Make him feel useful. Make him feel needed. That’s what will help the most.”

“Who’s getting punished?” Tony asks, watching Natasha stalk from the room.

“Nobody,” Steve mutters, grabbing the flask and storming past him in the opposite direction from Natasha.

“What did I miss?”

“Not now, Tony,” Steve grumbles, jerking the door open so hard that the top hinge breaks.

“This is why we can’t have nice things!” Tony yells after him.

 

Bucky stays in his own room that night, and Steve cries himself to sleep.

 

*****

 

“You should have your gun,” Bucky grumbles.

“I am not wearing a gun around the tower at all times. It’s never going to happen.”

“You’re gonna get us in trouble.”

Steve sighs and rubs his temple. He seems to be doing a lot more of that lately. Since the sparring session the previous week with Natasha when Bucky had hit his head, the switching between Bucky and the Asset was like a game of ping-pong, voice and demeanor changing without warning, often mid-conversation. It was getting harder to deal with without losing his cool.

The longer Bucky was with them and away from HYDRA, the more freely he spoke, which was great. But sometimes Steve wished he didn’t hear the things that he said, the implications behind the words. Currently he’d like to drop about ten more buildings on Rumlow, although that number seemed to climb daily. And Pierce deserved way more than a single shot to the head.

“Will you take a knife at least?”

“Tell me why I am required to be armed at all times.”

Steve has learned how to phrase his questions as orders and he fucking  _ hates _ that he has slipped into this role of Bucky’s handler so easily.

Bucky sighs as well.

“It’s to protect you from me,” he says sadly, and it’s Bucky’s voice, and he might as well have shoved the knife he held out directly into Steve’s heart. “In the event that I do not respond to orders, or attack you, you must be able to put me down. There is a gun with tranquilizers you should have been given. Since you do not have that, you must have something capable of slowing or incapacitating me.”

Steve reached forward for the knife, his fingers brushing the back of Bucky’s hand gently.

“I’ll take the knife if it will make you feel better,” he said softly. “But I do not believe you would ever hurt me. You’ve saved my life more times than I can remember, Bucky. You will not be the one to end it.”

Bucky sucks in a deep breath and his hand begins to tremble.

“Thank you, sir,” he manages to say, pulling his hand back.

The elevator opens and they make the walk to the gym in silence. Natasha had been right, of course. If Steve wasn’t willing to fuck the Asset, he needed to train with him. Half the problem was that Steve  _ did _ want to fuck  _ Bucky _ . The war had been a long damn time ago, and having Bucky this close yet so far away was torture.

The other half of the problem was that Steve didn’t know if he could ever get his brain past what had been done to Bucky to be able to sleep with him again, should he one day fully break the conditioning and be himself once more.

Lights flicked to life as they entered, and though Steve wanted to simply pummel another dozen or so bags, he made his way to the large sparring mat in the middle of the room.

They’d been going at it for nearly thirty minutes when Bucky pauses.

“Permission to speak, sir?”

“Of course, Buck. What’s on your mind?”

Bucky frowns, looking hesitant to speak despite being given the go-ahead. Steve gives him a moment and takes the opportunity to grab a towel and tosses one to Bucky, wiping his face as he catches his breath.

“Why do you refuse to force me to submit to you?”

Steve choked on the water he was drinking. That had certainly not been what he’d been expecting to be asked.

“It’s...you are never going to be forced to do anything, Bucky. Especially not that. What they did to you, your previous handlers, it’s wrong. Nobody should ever force themselves on someone. Nobody should ever be told that they are someone else’s toy.”

“Is that why we came here at two in the morning?”

“I couldn’t sleep, and Jarvis said you were awake as well. Normally I’d have come by myself, but then I figured maybe you could use the workout, too. Thought you might...feel better if we did this. If I...vented my frustration this way. With you.”

“But you  _ do _ desire me. I’ve seen the way you look at me, when you think I’m not watching you.”

“Bucky...just because I desire you, doesn’t mean I’ll act on it. Not if you aren’t in the correct frame of mind. Not if you think you have no say in the matter.”

Bucky appraised him, apparently mulling it over.

“You’re not like my other handlers. You’re much nicer.”

Steve just sighs, resigning himself to this new and torturous life.

“I don’t sleep much, if ever,” Bucky continues. “I...I am not normally awake this long, especially without a mission. Or without having used the chair again. I don’t understand, sir. Why am I awake if there is no mission?”

“ _ You _ are the mission, Bucky.”

The answer confuses him more, if the perplexed look on Bucky’s face is any indication.

Steve takes a long drink of water before he continues.

“Somewhere inside of you is my best friend. HYDRA did things to you that made you forget who you are. But the longer you’re conscious, the more their conditioning is breaking down. Which means, in theory, that you’re remembering. Or starting to, at least.”

“Is that why you call me Bucky? And not Asset?”

“I call you Bucky because that’s your name. You’re a person, not a weapon.”

“But the others call me Barnes. Only you call me Bucky.”

Steve sighed.

“Because they’re still not sure of you. Don’t know you the way that I do.”

“The way you  _ did _ ,” Bucky corrects, and then looks terrified for doing so. “I’m sorry, sir. I apologize for speaking out of turn,” he says, dropping his head and falling to his knees.

“No, you’re right. I don’t know you now. I know who you were before HYDRA got you. Whoever emerges from the depths of your brain is going to be different from the man I lost. But it doesn’t mean I won’t love him just the same.”

Steve cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth. He’s so damned emotionally and mentally exhausted that his internal filter is non-existent, and he never meant to say anything about their relationship while Bucky was still thinking and acting like the Asset.

“Hey, I’ve got an idea. You’re probably pretty sick of being cooped up in this tower, right? After all, like you said, you’re not normally awake this long. Let’s go outside and go for a walk. It’s still pretty early in the morning, there won’t be too many civilians out and about.”

Bucky lifts his head and tips it to the side.

“I’m not allowed outside unless on a mission. It’s proto—”

“Fuck protocol. I make the protocol now for you, right? Pierce is dead. HYDRA is gone. You are no longer a HYDRA agent. You look to me for guidance, right? So let’s go. It’ll be good to get some fresh air. Stretch our legs.”

Bucky remains on the floor, staring at him in utter confusion. Steve holds his hand out to help him up.

“Come on. On your feet, soldier. We’re busting out of here.”

A sudden grin splits Bucky’s face, and for a moment everything is right in the world.

An hour later, they’ve managed to wander all the way from Midtown Manhattan to the Brooklyn Bridge. Steve supposes he always had the destination in mind when they left the tower, though he wasn’t conscious of where they were headed until they drew nearer.

“It looks so different from this side,” Bucky muses. “Everything is so different.”

They’d walked most of the way in comfortable silence, Steve watching Bucky closely as he took everything in.

“Can we keep going?” he asked Steve.

“We can. I’ll be honest, whatever you remember from whatever time, it’s probably gone.”

They started across the bridge.

“This feels familiar. Like I used to watch the sunrise from the bridge.”

“You used to work at the docks,” Steve said, trying to hold back the emotion from his voice. “We shared an apartment, and I used to be sick a lot, before the serum. So you’d pick up extra shifts, work early mornings for the extra money to help pay for things when we were short the money. Many mornings you’d leave before sunrise, and yeah, you’d watch it from the bridge as you walked to work.”

It hurt to talk about it like this, second hand, as if it had happened to two other people. Which is why he’d been holding back from talking about the past at all with Bucky. Of course, it occurred to him now that he’d likely been doing more harm than good by being so distant with Bucky.

They reached the Manhattan tower and Bucky looked around, took in all the buildings along both shorelines, and then looked up.

“Can’t see anything anymore from down here,” he grumbles, and before Steve can stop him, Bucky is climbing out onto the rails and scaling the outer cables.

“Bucky! Where are you going?”

“About two hundred and seventy feet up so I can see the damned sunrise, what does it look like?”

Bucky is laughing— _ laughing— _ and the sound is so pure, so  _ Bucky _ , that Steve can’t help but feel like a kid again, tagging along behind Bucky, trying to keep up, to catch up, to stay by his side.

“Wait up!” he calls, forgetting for the moment that Bucky is a trained, deadly assassin suffering a mental break, that they’re not teenagers being reckless, that they’re not, actually, breaking laws by doing this—although who is really going to arrest Captain America?

Steve clambers up onto the top of the tower next to Bucky, who is sitting with his feet dangling very near the edge, looking happily to the east.

“Much better,” Bucky says, and his smile is infectious as Steve sits next to him. “Sunrise is way better than sunset. I don’t care what anyone else says. Sunsets are an ending, and everything gets dark. Sun _ rise _ , though, it’s a new beginning. A chance to start over. Everything is bright and cheery. And the colors are just as beautiful.”

“Geez Buck, all these years and I never knew you were a poet,” Steve teases.

“Shut up, punk.” Bucky shoves playfully at Steve’s shoulder and Steve’s heart breaks at the companionship he’d been missing all these years. Tears prick the corner of his eyes and he tells himself it’s the cold wind causing them.

“If I’d known you’d have us climbing the bridge I woulda stopped for a coat first,” he says, changing the mood. It’s autumn, after all, and this high up, with a clear night, even for their enhanced bodies it’s cold when they’re still only wearing t-shirts and sweatpants.

“Are you cold? I don’t ever notice it much. Not sure if that’s from training or from all the freezes. Any time I complained about anything they’d beat me, so I really don’t know. I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t think about it.”

And just like that, Bucky is gone and he’s back to Asset-speak. Although Steve is noticing there is a difference now to Asset mode, less cold and formal and more relaxed. Bucky moves as if to stand, and Steve pulls him back down.

“I’m fine, Bucky. I was just teasing you. We’ll stay. You wanted to watch the sunrise, and that’s what we’re going to do.”

Cautiously he sits back down. Steve leans back, bracing his hands against the cold stone.

“I always wanted to see the world from up here,” he says softly, trying to help Bucky relax once more. “But I was so small and weak, I’d never have been able to climb up here when we were kids. Now it’s just not the same. It’s too noisy. Too bright. The skyline is all wrong. Everything is wrong.”

“I’m wrong, too.”

It’s soft, almost too soft even for supersoldier ears to pick up, but Steve hears it and laughs bitterly.

“Being here with you is the only thing that feels right.”

“Even if I’m not the same person?”

“None of us are the same. I’m certainly not the same person I was then either.”

“I want to be him again. The longer I’m awake, I have...flashes. Like memories. Of him. Of you.” Bucky bites his bottom lip and looks hesitantly at Steve. “Of  _ us _ ,” he says, his inflection and tone clear as to what he remembers. “But then they’re gone, they don’t stay. And I wonder if they’re even real.”

“They’re real,” Steve whispers, meeting Bucky’s eyes.

The sun breaks over the horizon, over the tops of buildings, and bathes Bucky in light. Steve’s breath catches in his throat, and he would swear that his heart stopped. His gaze roams Bucky’s face, taking in every line, every angle, every curl of hair and storing it for later so he can try to paint it, though he doubts he can do the image justice.

Bucky looks to the sun, squinting his eyes.

“See? So much better than a sunset. Why set the world on fire when you can bring it to life instead?” He looks back to Steve, who still hasn’t torn his gaze from Bucky.

“You okay, Stevie?”

He nods mutely, pressing his lips tightly together to keep them from trembling as the tears break free.  _ Stevie _ . It was the first time Bucky had called him anything other than Captain or Sir since they’d brought him to the tower.

Bucky reaches over and cups Steve’s face with one hand, thumb swiping over his cheekbone.

“I’m not worth your tears. I’ve done terrible things. But you’re not going to give up on me, are you?”

“Never,” Steve gasps through his tears.

Bucky’s mouth crashes into his and in his shock Steve forgets that he should stop this, because they’re just as soft yet demanding as they were all those years ago, and he smells the same, and when he swipes his tongue inside Bucky’s mouth he still tastes the same, and it’s Bucky, he’s got him back, and—

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry sir, I’m not supposed to—” Bucky quickly scrambles away from him, cowering on all fours, something having tripped him back into Asset mode.

“Bucky, it’s okay, please, listen to me, I’m not upset—” Steve sits up, reaches forward, and Bucky scrambles further back, only to slip on the stone that angles sharply away at the edge. Gym shoes don’t offer much in the way of traction or grip, and Bucky’s lower body shoots over the lip into nothingness. The oh so tormentingly familiar look of shock and fear spreads on Bucky’s face as his momentum carries him down, arms flailing but unable to catch on, and then he’s falling, again, falling,  _ oh god no why not again— _

_ “STEVE!”  _ Bucky cries, but it’s not Bucky’s voice, it’s  _ The Asset’s voice _ , that subtly deeper tone that sets them apart, and Steve is on his stomach, reaching, but it’s too late, he’s too far, he can’t reach, he’s going to lose him again—

“ _ Bucky!” _ And then Steve is running, pushing off, falling through the air, following after him, he won’t leave him again...he does his best to keep his body relaxed, vertical, hitting feet first to minimize injury. The impact is still jarring, extremely painful, but he’d seen Bucky hit back first, and knew from experience how that felt, what that would do to him. After what feels like an eternity of sinking below the surface, Steve finally slows enough to be able to kick forward, searching desperately through the dark waters for Bucky.

Lungs burning, he pushes up, breaking the surface long enough to look for signs of where Bucky fell, sucks in another deep breath, and dives. His fingers brush something metal and he grabs on, pulls, and is elated to see Bucky’s body below him as he rises to shallower water.

A small group of onlookers has congregated, and now cheer when he rolls to his back, hefting Bucky onto his chest to hold him as he begins to slowly swim for shore. Unsurprisingly, by the time he gets there, a large crowd has gathered. Steve is about to ask for someone’s phone when two of Tony’s Iron Man suits land. One immediately goes prone on the ground and opens, revealing an empty interior.

“Put him in, wonderboy,” Tony orders, and Steve does so as the crowd takes pictures and videos on their phones. Bucky’s suit takes off as soon as it seals up. Steve steps back and braces himself in preparation of Tony picking him up to fly him back to the tower, and is surprised to have the armor open up and wrap around him as well.

“What’s the status on Bucky?” he asks the moment the mask closes.

“Uh, I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘ _ thank you so much for saving our asses, Tony,’ _ which, by the way, you’re welcome for. I don’t particularly enjoy five am wake up calls from Jarvis informing me that you two flew the coop and decided to go base jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge at sunrise.”

“Tony, did it occur to you that if he wakes up inside that suit without me there, there’s no telling how he’ll react?” The responding curse is answer enough for Steve. “Didn’t think so. And besides, it was an accident.”

“Sir, Sargent Barnes’ vital signs are stable, though elevated. His brain activity is quite accelerated, though he remains unconscious. He also suffers from a multitude of broken bones and some internal bleeding, which is already slowing due to his increased healing capabilities.”

“Thank you, Jarvis.”

“I shall bring you directly to the medical suite, Captain.”

Being inside one of Tony’s suits is highly disorienting, and Steve finds himself simply closing his eyes until he senses the shift in speed and alignment that indicates their return to the tower. Tony might be able to follow all the readouts and information constantly flitting across his line of sight, but Steve is thrown off by the lack of peripheral vision and the steady flow of input. His respect for Tony’s intellect and ability increases, though he’ll never admit it to his face.

“As predicted, Captain, Sargent Barnes has woken and is quite distressed,” Jarvis announces as they arrive on the medical floor.

“Goddamn it,” Steve hisses. “Get me out of this thing!”

The suit falls away as Steve runs into the room, where he can hear Bucky screaming, his name interspersed within the sounds of terror.

“Steve!  _ Steve! Help me!” _

“Sir, I should inform you, that among Sargent Barnes’ broken bones is a punctured lung that he has now re-injured, and he has broken the lower part of his spine.”

“Jarvis, get the helmet off. Bucky, Bucky, it’s me! It’s okay, I’m here, you’re going to be okay.”

Bucky thrashes his head, trying to get out of the armor, which is currently locked to a table in an effort to contain him. 

“Bucky! Listen to me. Listen to my voice. It’s Steve. I’m here. I’ve got you. You’re safe now.” He jumped up onto the table, sitting on Bucky’s chest, and grabbed his head, forcing him still. 

“Steve?”

“Yes. Listen to me. You must calm down. I am here. I will not let anyone hurt you. I promised you, right? No more experiments.”

“They all promised me things. They all lied.”

“I am not your goddamned handler! I am your friend! I have loved you since we were teenagers and I have never once lied to you.”

“Stevie...” 

It was all Steve could do to not cry again at the name, the endearment saved for those secret moments, stolen moments, together against all the rules...

“Yes Bucky. I’m here. I’m with you.”

“’Til the end of the line,” Bucky finished, and this time the sob does escape Steve.

“Yes, Buck. ’Til the end of the line.”

“Stevie, I can’t move.”

“Well, for starters, that’s because I’m sitting on you. And you’re restrained. I need you to stay calm and listen to me, because otherwise they’re going to have to give you a sedative, which I know you don’t want. You have a punctured lung. You have broken bones. And you broke your spine. You need to let us set them so you heal properly.”

“I remember falling. I remember you, and the sun on your face, and you looked...” Bucky trailed off, a blush spreading across his cheeks that Steve knew was mirrored on his own. “Apparently, supersoldier or not, it’s not a good idea to fall into the East River from the top of the bridge, huh?”

Steve cocked an eyebrow at him.

“You think? Because I know for sure that I broke my leg going in after you and it hurts like hell especially in this position and I’d really like to address my own injuries. But not until you assure me you’re good.” He sees the traces of fear in Bucky’s eyes at his words and rushes to reassure him. “I’m not leaving the room, I promise. I’ll be right here the whole time.”

Bucky swallows and holds Steve’s gaze.

“Steve? I’m scared. I’m afraid I’ll slip away again.”

“I’ll be right here when you get back, if it does happen. Promise.”

“Kiss me again? Please?”

Steve blushes. 

“Well, I guess they’ll all find out sooner or later anyway.”

He leans down, kissing Bucky not quite the way he’d like to, but enough to let him know that nothing has changed between them. 

“You can trust them. Let them help, okay?”

“Your new group of Howlies, huh?”

“Something like that,” he says with a grimace as he climbs down from the table. “Fuck that hurts,” he groans.

Bucky’s groans accompany his as the suit slowly retracts, gently settling Bucky’s body onto the table. 

“Christ, don’t ever let me climb up there again.”

“Yeah, what exactly were you two lovebirds doing up there anyway?” Tony enters the room in full armor and Steve eyes him up and down. “What, this? Sorry, but I don’t trust robocop there just yet. And Banner is talking me through this remotely, so, I kinda need Jarvis for scans and whatnot.”

“Watching the sunrise,” Bucky grunts from his position on the table as Natasha arrives and begins palpating ribs. 

“Ugh, that’s so corny and disgusting. And we have a better view here, where it’s warm and dry. Why go there?”

“Ribs are set, his lung should heal shortly assuming he recovers at the same rate as Steve,” Natasha reports. 

“Okay, so here’s the deal. We have to set your spine. Sooner than later. And it’s going to hurt. A lot. It’s not lined up, and yeah, you’re healing fast, and when Ken Doll here broke his after you dropped him from the carrier he was walking out of the hospital in two days.”

Bucky catches Steve’s eyes.

“Guess we’re even now, huh?”

*****

Bucky refuses any and all sedatives, terrified of losing himself again.

The fall from the tower had triggered something inside his brain ( _ falling, falling, oh god Steve who’s going to protect you now, not again _ ), and he wanted to stay, didn’t want to disappear within his own mind again, didn’t want to be cold, detached, cynical, a machine and nothing more.

He’d tried so hard to push forward and remain there, on the bridge with Steve, his Steve, looking out at their city that had changed so much, he’d hoped that it would help end the half-life he was living. Then he’d looked at Steve, bathed in the first rays of the sun like some god come to life, and he was crying, crying  _ for Bucky _ , his own personal god, shedding tears that Bucky didn’t deserve, and he couldn’t resist the need to kiss him, it had been so long...

Bucky had been unable to stop the fear, the terror, the panic rising inside him from the Asset, the trained response, his  _ conditioned reaction _ to something so intimate, so forbidden to him, because he couldn’t remember just exactly why it was so important to fight to stay.

But as Steve stands at his head, hands on his shoulders, holding him down, and he stares into those impossibly blue eyes, he remembers everything. Scraped knees. Split lips. Black eyes. Broken ribs. Bloody knuckles and noses. Back alleys. School yards. Coney Island. Festivals. Funerals. Their apartment... _ their apartment _ . His hand over Steve’s mouth, keeping him quiet so the neighbors won’t hear. Piling blankets on the bed while Steve shivered uncontrollably, all the while terrified that this would be the year that the flu would take Steve from him. Laughter, so much laughter. Steve drawing while Bucky read, the ball game on the radio.

“Steve,” he whispers, his hands coming up to hold onto biceps now bigger than his— _ everything is bigger now, oh God, he thinks he might die at the feel of Steve inside him now, but he’s got to be quiet, can’t let the other soldiers hear _ —and Steve smiles down at him, looking just as besotted as Bucky feels.

“I’ve got you, Bucky. I’m here,” he murmurs, thumbs stroking along his collarbone.

“Ready?” Tony asks, and Steve nods his head, never breaking eye contact with Bucky.

Human hands and metal arms from the machines in the room all grab onto him, some holding him still as others move his body. His own hands dig into Steve’s arms and he can’t hold it back any longer, he screams as white-hot pain shoots through him, even worse than when HYDRA would mess with his shoulder. When the haze recedes he feels firm pressure circling his waist and hips, and all the hands are gone except Steve’s, and he’s still got a death grip on Steve’s arms.

“I gotta say, Barnes, it is  _ scary _ how well you took that, which means I  _ really _ don’t want to know what those bastards did you because it’ll probably give me nightmares and I’ve got enough of those from my own issues.”

“Thanks, I guess?”

He loosens his hold on Steve and drops his hands to his shoulders, where Steve’s hands still rest lightly, and their fingers intertwine.

“I think we’ve done all we can here, and since you technically don’t exist and we don’t know who might be looking for you, or what exactly was done to you, we can’t just waltz into a neurosurgery room with you. If you’re feeling stable enough, Bruce will come in and run some more checks on you. My specialty is tech. I can tinker with your arm if you want, change the look of it, the abilities, all that. But this kind of stuff is beyond me. He at least has a medical degree.”

Bucky frowns.

“Why isn’t he here now?”

“He’s got some amazing rage issues. If you went into deadly Russian killer mode, he’d end up destroying my tower and I’m not particularly a huge fan of that—I’m sorry, but are you two going to stop staring at each other? Because it’s starting to really creep me out.”

“It’s called a coping mechanism, I believe. Seventy years of brainwashing, experimentation, and torture. It’s still a little difficult for me to believe he’s real and not a figment of my imagination.” Bucky grins up at Steve as he speaks.

“Okay, well, I’m real, too, and this is very uncomfortable for everyone else in the room.”

“You’re the  _ only  _ other person in the room, Tony.”

“How can you know that if you haven’t torn your eyes from him?”

“Deadly Russian killer, remember?” He delivers it deadpan, but winks at Steve as he says it, knowing Tony can’t see from his position.

Steve laughs and steps away, but not before he presses a kiss to Bucky’s forehead.

“Tony, before you leave, I need your help with something.”

Bucky notices Steve’s limp and remembers the broken leg.

“This has started to set, I need you to re-break it and air cast it for me.”

“What the shit, Rogers? Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Steve shrugs, sweeping an arm in Bucky’s direction.

“His injuries were worse.”

Tony sighs and buries his face in his hands.

“I swear to God, you two are going to be the death of me. Get on the table. And I’m warning you, if you hit me, I’ll punch you in your perfect teeth.”

Bucky watches, anxiety rising as he remembers all the times he carried a broken tiny Steve home. Steve must sense it, because he looks over to him and smiles.

“It’s okay, Bucky. I’ll be walking just fine by dinnertime.”

Bucky holds his arm out for Steve to take his hand and Steve reaches for it, even though they both know they’re too far apart.

Tony mutters something else snide under his breath about needing a drink as he delivers a blow to Steve’s leg. Steve cries out and grabs onto the table, and when Bucky looks he sees dents in the metal beneath his hands. Bucky’s anxiety shifts, becomes something he hasn’t felt in, well, decades, and he thinks, for the first time since he woke up surrounded by scientists and missing an arm, that everything just might be okay.

A short while later, Steve is lying on a bed next to Bucky, pushed close enough for them to hold hands, and they both drift off to sleep.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

okay, so, not really a new chapter. BUT I wanted to let those of you subscribed to this (and anyone else reading) that I decided to rewrite and expand this fic! 

 

After I finished this piece, I really wished I'd pushed harder, made it darker, and really gotten into a longer recovery and how The Asset would behave/interact with the team as his conditioning broke down, and how that would affect Steve (because let's face it, he's fun to torture). And, because I can't just ignore those types of plot bunnies, it happened, lol. It's much longer than I had anticipated, and took some very unexpected turns as I was going, but I hope you like it!

 

the new, longer fic is located [here ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19946635/chapters/47232337)and is called "Guilty I May Be (but don't give up on me)". Heed the warnings, tho. Steve goes a bit dark in the new one, becoming Bucky's Handler, including assisting the Asset with "routine body maintenance"...and getting some help of his own from  _his_ handler, Natasha. (I don't know, it just happened as I wrote, please don't yell at me...)

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on tumblr!
> 
> <https://hanitrash.tumblr.com/>
> 
> also, check out my published stuff? pretty please?
> 
> [https://www.amazon.com/Loralynne-Summers/](https://www.amazon.com/Loralynne-Summers/e/B00RC8DGGS?ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1&qid=1577730376&sr=8-1)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Guilty I May Be (but don't give up on me)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19946635) by [HaniTrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HaniTrash/pseuds/HaniTrash)




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